Rain
by twintailed
Summary: Aerith waits. One year, two years, three years, four years. And her hope of Zack coming home starts to fade. Takes place during Crisis Core. Aerith/Zack.


_**Rain**_

_**a/n: **__Written circa 4th January, 2009._

_This was written for a friend, for her birthday earlier this year. I just started with an idea and extended it with several letters that Aerith could have written, and how she came to her final decision. Was completely inspired by Sayuri's quote from Memoirs of a Geisha - it was the first thing that really came to mind when I was trying to write a fic for my friend for her birthday._

_I've tried to roughly write one letter a year, or so.. I think. Also, the last letter is the 89th letter that's spoken in the game by Aerith in the English version, if you're wondering. The title comes from the fact the last time we see Zack and Aerith in the game's final cutscene, it is raining._

_

* * *

_

**The heart dies a slow death.**

Shedding every hope like leaves.

Until there are none.

No hopes.

Nothing remains.

_- Sayuri, Memoirs of a Geisha_

. . . .

_I'm going to write from now on... if that's alright. I haven't been able to get through to your phone. I just have to make sure I address all these right! I should get the hang of it._

_I miss you. Will you be coming back soon? I hope so._

_All the rain has stopped now, so I think the seasons have started to change. Which is a good thing - no one likes to go out in the rain - but it's not good for the flowers. They like the rain! And if takes longer to sell them, too, but that should work out... not many people are buying them yet._

_I've taken up enough of your time, so I'll leave this letter here._

_I'll be waiting for you to come home._

. . . .

It was raining.

The soft pitter-patter of rain droplets hit the numerous items with varying degrees of volume – the remains of the roof were hit harshly, like the sound of someone banging on a door for forced entry. The remaining wood on the ground seemed to soak up the water like a sponge, making the area damp for days on end. The flowers, too, seemed to soak up the water – though some still gently dripped off the petals and the leaves, to fall into the small patch of grass that bloomed in Midgar.

Slightly to the side of the flowers, just out of the reach of the merciless rain, their caretaker was sat watching them. She was almost crouched, not quite daring to sit on the damp wood but doing so all the same. Her bare arms were wrapped around her knees – it was cold, but she didn't shiver. She was used to wearing her white dress all year round.

That, and the figure was absently preoccupied. Her eyes were on the flowers, but she didn't see them. She saw something else. Or... someone else, to be precise. Someone who she wished would be reflected back to her in the flowers. Some sort of hint, some sort of clue.

She stared for the next two minutes, until her eyes, deprived of moisture, forced her to blink. She rapidly blinked away several times, but the vision that she'd started to wrap herself in was lost as she looked at the flowers. She couldn't fool herself now.

Aerith sighed. It was a futile effort to begin with, but just for a minute... she could almost remember him having landed on the other side of the sprouting buds when they had been in full bloom, after he'd fallen through the ceiling. She could _almost_ see it... but then it had just disappeared. There was no Zack there. She was just fooling herself. In that hope that one day he _would_ be sat there, watching her tend to the flowers.

As she had done everyday, she knew, for the past year. The season had changed with the coming rain, and the seasons had come full circle, back to the season after she'd lost all contact with him. There had been nothing since then, and no one to contact. She didn't know anyone to ask.

"I guess you don't need watering today, do you?" She said to the flowers, standing upright and dusting off her knees. They ached a little – she'd been sat still for a long time.

There were no traces, she recalled, as she started to pace around the surviving pews in the church, scouring for when she'd placed her food for the day, deciding it best not to brave the rain until had passed. There were no traces of him at all, nothing – nobody spoke of him. Nobody recollected Zack. It was if he were something her mind had made up just to whim the time away. "A dream," she muttered to herself, as she clambered over debris. That was a good word for it all.

Even though she knew he wasn't, there were days when Aerith wasn't really sure.

All she could conclude was that it must have been a very vivid dream, in that case. A dream that she would give just about anything to go back into.

A sound that could be associated with roosting pigeons reminded her of another factor – the fact that if Zack had been a dream for those precious times they'd spent together, then parts of it were very, very solidly real. She glanced up, and sure enough, the Angeal copy was still sat in the rafters, watching her with a beady eye.

Aerith smiled up at it. "You're not a dream, are you?" she said pleasantly, and was responded too by a slight ruffling of wings, where she smiled ever so slightly more. "No, you're not. If you're not, he's not a dream, either. He's there. Somewhere."

As she said it, she saw a glint at the end of one pew – the place she'd assigned her lunch too, so she wandered over to it, a smile still set on her face.

She didn't feel like smiling. But she had to. She had to be all right.

Aerith knew she had to keep her faith. If she didn't, her heart would die.

If she didn't keep her faith, doubt would rain down upon her heart with the ferocity of the rain on the roof.

And unlike the roof above her that was still holding out against the rainfall? That she would not survive.

. . . .

_Zack,_

_Where are you now? Are you... you're still going, as only a SOLDIER can, aren't you?_

_I know you won't falter with whatever you're doing. Because that's who you are._

_Oh! And I never mentioned before – or, well, I did, but only very briefly. The copy you left behind... it looks a lot better now. I think I might be able to send some letters via it than via somewhere else... because I don't think they're getting to you._

_I think they're going somewhere but never getting to where you are. Nobody seems to remember you anymore. Like a dream..._

_You're not just a dream, Zack._

_I'll remember so you won't be._

_- Aerith_

. . . .

"Would you like to buy a flower?"

She held a single lily outright, just brushing the tip of the man's collar as she held it up in his direction. He hadn't even turned to look at her yet, but the odd touch on his shoulder finally made him at least swivel his eyes round to look at her.

Aerith smiled at finally having caught his attention, and indicated a few pots of flowers she had next to her. "Would you like to buy some? Only one gil."

The man looked at her, the flowers, and back again, before he sneered. "What's your deal, lady? Open your eyes and look around you. Who cares about flowers – there's much more stuff we _need_ than flowers. Don't be daft and sell something useful," he shook her off, scowling and clearly taking it as a joke.

"But they-!" Aerith started, her face becoming suddenly animated in her surety of her claim, but it was a wasted effort. The man was already slouching off in a direction opposite with his hands stuck in his pockets.

"—They make people happy," She finished quietly to herself, the lily drooping in her hand as she gently sighed.

It wasn't such a big thing. True, she had been standing here for several hours and only a few 'regular' customers had come by... those who liked the flowers and relatively knew her... and only one of those had had enough spare to buy any, but that was alright. She hadn't even expected to even sell any. She wouldn't have entertained the thought until Zack had mentioned it before. She knew she had to stand here, and that popularity for such a rare thing would not come overnight. It would come. Slowly, it would come.

Still, that didn't stop it from being a disappointment when someone rejected some.

"Sheesh, what's his problem?"

Lost in thought, Aerith looked up, recognizing the voice immediately – it was the boy she often helped, the one that used to be a thief but had given up (sort of) his thieving ways. Her face spread out into a neatly arranged smile, but she did feel genuinely happy to see him. She hadn't seen him in a while.

"Hey, Aerith," he said with a grin, walking off. She immediately noted he was taller than she remembered – she didn't have to bend down to talk to him anymore. "I'll take some. Mom said they look nice and she wants to brighten up the shop window," he fished in his pocket for a moment, before he produced a single gil, flicking it around and offering it to her.

She smiled slightly, as she picked a nice arrangement to give to him. "Is that fake?" she asked teasingly.

"N-No! What makes you think that?" He stuttered, waving his hands from side to side, looking sheepish. "I've gone straight. I told you, remember? Ever since I brought back that guys purse. Only took a couple of things and given fake things-— but this ain't one of those times! This gil is real."

"I believe you," she said with a slight laugh, offering the flowers and pocketing the gil in return. "So... your mom? She's better now?"

"Yup," he nodded, shuffling the flowers into a crook in his arm to hold them better. "I went straight and I help her out in the shop now, that's why you probably don't see me often. Gotta do my bit to help out."

"That's nice to hear. I'm sure she appreciates the help," Aerith nodded.

"Yeah, I wish. Sometimes she shouts, but... it's better than doing nothing," the boy shrugged. "Don't want her to get sick again, not really. Actually, speaking of which..." he looked around, from side to side, as if searching for someone. Aerith blinked and waited for him to continue.

When he didn't, she asked. "Hmm? What is it?"

The boy stopped scouting for whoever he was looking for and returned his gaze for Aerith. "Oh, just... I was wondering where he was. Your boyfriend. Is he still your boyfriend now?"

"He-" Aerith started automatically, before she stopped, and slowly sighed. Even her carefully kept facade couldn't stop a slight frown creeping out onto her face. The first part she could attempt to answer, but.. the second? Was he ever? Was he still? Could he still be after two years? With each year, a little more hope was torn away. There were stories, old stories, of people coming home to find someone had moved on... but that was then and this was now. "I..." she sighed again, before shaking her head. She decided to scoot around that particular question. "I was wondering the same," she admitted.

"You were?" The boy seemed surprised, and he too frowned. "Huh. Maybe he's just gone away for a while? But... you don't know where he is?"

"I'm not really sure," Aerith said sadly, her eyes casting down to her flowers. "I mean, I do know... but it's been so long. It might have changed."

"But it should make it from there, right?" The boy said encouragingly. He nodded. "Hey, Aerith, I better run, but I'll come by again tomorrow, alright? I'll send a few of my friends round too. They're really nice flowers. Don't listen to that jerk from before."

Aerith managed a smile, and she laughed. It wasn't even entirely false, either - she could tell he was trying to distract her from topics that made her sad. And flowers always did work. "I'm glad you like them. And take care of your mother - we don't want to see you stealing again, do we?" She said mischievously.

"Hey, I already told you I was way off that path now," The boy said with a grimace, before he waved once and turned on his heel, disappearing into the complex of stalls set up in the makeshift market.

. . . .

_Zack,_

_Are you doing okay? I'm fine._

_It's been two years. I'm still holding out hope for you, Zack. And if not now... then maybe third time lucky._

_I saw that boy in the market a few days ago. Do you remember? The one who you helped find his wallet so he could help his sick mother. She's better, now, and he's stuck to your advice. He's given up the stealing and is helping out his mother in their shop._

_It's nice to hear that. I'm happy... it seems to strengthen that we did something good for someone, the two of us._

_No flowers have been selling, but- his friends started coming, then some other people, and now I have a few more regular customers. It's going so well... hopefully everyone will grow to love it, and it will make people happy._

_-Aerith_

. . . .

_Please come home, Zack._

_I've written so much over the past three years, but I've had no answers... and I don't even know if you're getting them. I used to write a lot, but now... I just write less and less._

_I'm worried for you. I know that you can't home if you're busy - that's what being SOLDIER is about, right? - But... I wish I just knew you were safe where you were. That boy we knew has moved away... and no one knows your name at all anymore._

_Zack? I don't know how many more letters I will write. But there will be a final letter... and soon. I hope you'll come home, but... I don't know if you will._

_I'm sorry. I wish I could tell you something better. When the time for my last letter comes, I'll... wish with all my heart it gets to you._

_And then I'll wait just a bit longer._

_-Aerith_

. . . .

Overly large spectacles sat on the rim of the elderly man's nose as he leant back against the stack of books behind him, as he dozed off in the afternoon sun that was filtering through the door. The sun shone into her face, which make him squint and his eyelids droop. The silence in the shop made it peaceful, and his wife wasn't around to say he was slacking off his turn to manage the place. It was relaxing, and he just wanted to... close... his eyes for a few minutes...

It was only the opening of the door that made him sit bolt upright, suddenly attentive, the old crick in the base of his back almost making him curse, but he forced a pained smile out instead.

Aerith smiled, as she walked out of the doors shadows and into view. "I'm sorry, I didn't mean to scare you," she said sincerely.

"Oh, no, not at all!" He said, waving his one hand in the air but the other pushing hard against his back in the hope it would click back into place. "Just thinking about taking a snooze... I'm too old for all this. But never mind that. What can I do for you?"

"I won't keep you long," Aerith promised. She glanced this way and that, her ponytail swishing from side to side as she scanned the walls above him, but she had little success. She returned her gaze to the shopkeeper. "... I was wondering if you had some paper?" she asked.

"Oh, of course, of course," the old shopkeeper replied, smiling, as with unprecedented energy he'd mustered up from somewhere he bounded upright, with a cane in hand, and trailed to the shelf Aerith had overlooked, to out several sheets of paper.

"That's a relief," Aerith said as she watched him go about finding paper. "I was almost running out."

"Not to pry," the man said cheerfully, rearranging the shelf as he replaced everything he'd moved back into pace. "But what's it for?"

"I need it for a letter," Aerith said brightly, though her tone might have been slightly sheepish. "... For someone important." She wasn't really sure what she should call Zack, now. It was nearing just over four years, but she did know that if they weren't together anymore, that he was still important.

"Oh, a letter, huh," The shopkeeper nodded knowledgably, though he looked a slight bit confused. "I thought you young people were all about the phone calls these days?"

"Oh, I have phoned him," Aerith nodded once, before she dropped a gil on the counter. "It's just... that was a long time ago. So I started on letters, but... I never get a reply. I'm not sure he's there anymore."

The man stopped suddenly as he was about to pick up the coin in front of him, and looked at Aerith. Really looked at her. He could see there was a certain flair about her - happiness so to speak. But the glint wasn't there in her eyes when she talked about this person she was speaking off. She seemed almost sad - like all the hope was fading out of her. His next words were soft, and, at an attempt to be comforting in the tone of an older person who knew more about the world. "You don't know where he is?"

Aerith shook her head, very slowly, her hands hovering over the paper but not picking it up.

"And the letters?"

"... I don't know where to send them anymore," Aerith admitted quietly, her voice quiet and unsure.

"I see," Said the man, his brow furrowing. "But you keep trying?"

"Yes. As... I have to hope he's still there. I have to hope he's coming home. Each letter is a hope from my heart that he'll come back to me. So he will," Aerith replied, her words passionate. But there was something lacking in her voice, she realized. Despite the meaningful words, she had no conviction. She had a fractious belief on those words, and she couldn't say them as she would have said them three years ago.

"I know I'm just an old man," the man said, picking up the paper and ushering into her hands, "There's hoping and there's commitment. But there are only a number of times you can try. Only so many years you can give. One day you have to stop and move on."

Aerith didn't - and couldn't - say anything to that, but merely nodded weakly, her face thoughtful. She knew he was right.

But was she ready to give in? She had sent that frantic letter one night when it had become too much to bear - but was she really ready to send that last letter?

As she sought about her soul, and as she thanked the old man and stepped out of the shop, she had her answer.

One last letter. One last chance of wishing and waiting. And then she'd have to accept that maybe he wouldn't be coming home.

. . . .

_How are you? I wish I knew where you were. It's already been four years now._

_This.. is the 89th letter that I've sent to you, but I don't even know where to send them anymore. I really hope that this final letter that I'm writing gets to you._

_By the way, the flowers are selling very well. They make everyone so happy- thanks to you, Zack._

_- Aerith_

. . . .

She finished writing her name, the writing absolutely immaculate. She double-checked - it was short. It told him what he needed to know... what he should know.

Aerith stoop upright, and was just making her way out of the doorway, when a rustling in the rafters distracted her. It was the copy again - he'd started to fly down, which caused Aerith to stop. She wasn't strictly scared of it - it hadn't hurt her, but had more so watched over her for Zack - but it was always best to be careful.

It looked at her for a moment, and then bowed it's head once. Confused, Aerith tilted her head to one side - and noticed it was inclining its head towards the letter.

Did it know it was the final letter? Aerith didn't know. But she looked between them. "That might work," she said, thinking the idea over. It certainly seemed much more stronger and plausible and more likely to reach him. "Yes... just this one. The last one. Take it to Zack, please. Wherever he is. Please find him and make sure he gets it, if... if he's alive," she added.

The Angel-copy bowed its head a little more, then, ruffling its feathers, carefully created a place for Aerith to place the letter. Aerith did so, and just as soon as she'd stepped back, it was heading out the open door, into the fortunately empty street, and as soon as she blinked twice, it was up in the air, soaring far away under the plates, towards the open sky in the distance that she couldn't see.

As she watched it disappear, it slowly dawned on her, something that she had known would happen the day she sent a letter with the copy. And probably why she never had before.

Now there was no memory of Zack. No traces of him being here. No hints to his existence. Now there was nothing to prove that Zack wasn't a dream. Only the hope that was in her heart.

The hope in her heart, that, was near extinct. Sealed away in that last letter, the final echo of the last hope clinging to her heart that he would still be coming home to her. Only one last fragment remained.

But that alone would not withstand the force of the oncoming rain in Midgar. Not again.


End file.
